


The Princess and the Wolf

by marvel_girl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvel_girl/pseuds/marvel_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...his Dornish princess. That was what he called her, and Arianne longed to be mad at him for claiming her as his, for treating her like something he owned, but she could only laugh and kiss him harder, her no-longer-green-boy, her hungry wolf that was always desperate for her."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Princess and the Wolf

Arianne created a monster.

She didn’t mean to, but she knew that it was of her own doing. Robb Stark had been a sweet, kind boy when she arrived at Winterfell all those months ago. Most importantly, her betrothed had been a green boy. Arianne, despite being two years younger than the eldest Stark son, hadn’t been a maiden for years. And when one day the dull ache that coursed through her body became too much to ignore, too great for her to get rid of on her own with her fingers in the middle of the night, she had sought out Robb Stark and quickly stripped him of any greenness.

That first time had been a tad clumsy; she remembers Robb’s hands shaking as he helped her lift her skirts, the look of awe as she guided his fingers to her cunt, his shout of surprise and her hand welded to his mouth to keep him quiet when she mounted him as he lay on the ground of the godswood. He hadn’t lasted long; a few pushes of her body against him, a handful of uneven thrusts from him, and he was spending inside her. But Arianne had prepared for this, had made him work her up enough with his fingers so that all she needed after he came was a few more touches of his fingers as they pressed against her nub. Arianne had smiled languidly after she came, as the pleasure rippled through her body and the throbbing she had suffered from for months finally disappeared. She had slid forward and kissed Robb before getting off of him, patted down her skirts, and said, “Thank you for your help, my lord.”

But there was nothing clumsy about this time. Robb’s fingers were quick and sure as they undid the laces of her dress. He wasn’t even looking at his work; his mouth was too busy sucking a dark bloom on Arianne’s neck. Every so often he dug his teeth into her skin and dragged them down; he had learned after only the second time that this made her wet, made her moan against him. But this time when she moaned, he lifted his head and pressed his mouth to her ear. “Shhhh, Princess. We don’t want them to hear.”

Arianne hissed. Livid at the scolding—she used to be the one to tell him to be quiet, to keep his groans to himself or half of Winterfell would hear him—she reached down between them and gripped his cock tightly through his breeches. A low growl ripped from his lips, and when Robb turned his head to kiss her, she wasted no time in biting his lips. Robb shifted his hips, a silent request for friction, and Arianne thought of taking her hand off of him, of pushing him away and making him leave her bedroom, but the swell of him against her palm, the delicious feeling of him hot and hard for _her_ , made her decide against it. She almost felt kind and generous as she rubbed Robb Stark through his breeches. He sighed into her mouth while his fingers finished unlacing her gown. He gave her a wolfish grin, those blue eyes glinting in the darkness, before he shoved her gown roughly open and down her shoulders. This time it was her turn to scold him, to press a finger to his lips, when he moaned at the sight of her exposed breasts.

They were in her bedroom, in the middle of the night; Robb had developed the bad habit of stealing into her room every so often, his cock always hard and pressing against his breeches, insistent against her hip or her arse as he immediately began undressing her, his Dornish princess. That was what he called her, and Arianne longed to be mad at him for claiming her as his, for treating her like something he owned, but she could only laugh and kiss him harder, her no-longer-green-boy, her hungry wolf that was always desperate for her. She found it frustrating that they had to keep themselves quiet so as not to wake anyone, to make sure Lord Eddard or Lady Catelyn didn’t wake up, grow suspicious at the sounds coming from Arianne’s room, and come across the two of them naked and writhing in bed. Though Arianne didn’t know why it would be so scandalous. She and Robb were betrothed; they would be wed within the year. What was wrong with a little practice before their bedding?

They used to find moments in the godswood, sometimes even the stables when everyone was out riding; moments filled with hands reaching under skirts or breeches, Robb panting against her neck, and his hard, needy thrusts because they knew if they were caught, they would be kept apart until the wedding which was too many months away. They were always clothed, mainly because it would take too much time to undress and then re-dress, and in the beginning Arianne had thought, half-jokingly, that if they were to truly strip down, Robb would spend before he ever got in her. But after fucking dozens of times, Robb had grown better, could actually keep up with her now, and then Arianne had made the mistake of unlacing the top half of her dress one time in the godswood and baring her breasts for Robb Stark. He had attacked them like a wolf attacks its prey; all teeth and mouth, sucking and biting, and Arianne would have laughed at his eagerness, at the way he revered and loved her teats like such a young boy even though he was almost a man grown, but she was too busy moaning, too busy losing herself in Robb Stark and those beautiful eyes of his as he fucked her hard against a tree, his hands on her breasts and kneading them firmly, rolling and pinching her nipples until she came. 

And now her wolf was no longer pleased with rushed moments in the corners of Winterfell, of touching his Dornish princess through all of her clothes. When he first came into her room, she was more surprised than she should have been, and she had raised her eyebrow as the future Lord of Winterfell demanded she take her clothes off right then and there. Eventually they had stripped down, both wild at the sight and feel of the other completely naked, but she had made sure that was the last night Robb Stark ever demanded anything of her.

Robb moaned again as he reached for her; his hand molded easily around her breast, and his thumb brushed across her nipple. He dipped his head and ran his tongue against the curve of her breast, teased her teat, then closed his mouth around it and sucked hard. A slow curl of heat unfurled within Arianne; down her stomach, straight down to her cunt. She buried her fingers in his hair and pressed him closer, arching her back as he scraped his teeth across her breasts. “Gods, Arianne,” he groaned when he came up for air. She danced her lips up his throat and to his jaw, his beard ticklish against her lips, and then back down, pressing open mouthed kisses to his neck, her tongue tracing over the thin, tight skin there. The top half of her gown had pooled at her waist, and now Robb clawed at it, leaned her back so she was lying on the bed, and pushed her dress down her body until she was naked before him, her thick, black hair splayed across the pillows. 

He stilled. His left hand was by her waist, pressing into the bed, and he held his other hand to her hip. Arianne watched as he licked his lower lip. He had a plush mouth, a soft, easy mouth that she loved to torment, that she loved to have on her nearly all the time. Her eyes traveled down the rest of his body as he held himself over her. His stomach and chest were ridged with muscle, as well as his arms, and she couldn’t stop herself from resting her hands on his ribcage and sliding them up and across his chest, her fingers running through the soft, russet hair gathered there. 

“I think you’re far too clothed, my lord,” she said, tugging on the laces of his breeches for emphasis.

Robb laughed. His fingers traced patterns over her stomach, dipping lower and lower until his fingers slid against her aching flesh. Arianne pressed her head back into the pillow and raised her hips as she moaned hungrily. Robb quieted her with a laughing kiss. He was always laughing, her wolf. “And I think you should be more quiet, your grace.”

“And I think you should hurry up and please me before I throw you out of here,” she said through gritted teeth. She bucked her hips up again, but Robb’s fingers were evasive. He lazily drew circles into her inner thigh, ignoring her silent pleas for his touch. Annoyed by the smirk on his face, she drew up onto her elbows and nudged him with her leg. “Out. Now. If you’re not going to— _oh_ ,” she said airily, immediately falling back onto the bed when Robb pushed a finger into her, then another, slipping through her wetness. He twisted and curled his fingers while she pulsed around him. Arianne brought her hand up and clamped her teeth around her wrist while Robb pressed harder within her, his fingers more insistent, well-versed in how to strum and pinch and rub his princess after so much practice. His eyebrows knitted together as he leaned over her, watching her carefully as she squirmed under his touch. Arianne looked into his eyes, those blue eyes that were wild with lust, dark with desire. She had never known anyone with eyes like his, and the way he was looking at her made her skin grow tight and heat unfurl in her belly.

Robb gently pushed her hand from her mouth, and she bit her lip to hide the moans until he rested his mouth over hers and she moaned into him. She bucked her hips against him frantically and he grabbed her waist, his big, callused hands spanning over her stomach, and pushed her back into the bed. 

Her hands were on his laces again, and with merely a few quick movements, they were untied. Robb pushed his breeches down, but not all the way off, and growled almost hungrily when Arianne took his heavy cock in her hands. He didn’t fight her as she raised her hips and guided him in. No, instead his body practically melted over hers. He pressed into her, one of his hands grabbing a fistful of her hair, his mouth against her ear as he groaned. Arianne sighed. She still felt tight and sore and on the verge of desperation, but she drank in the feel of his body, ran her hands down his smooth, white back before digging her nails into him and clawing down, before pitching her hips toward him. Robb answered back with a soft nip at her neck, the barest hint of teeth on her skin, and finally he moved.

Before, they were always quick. Quick, hard, needy. Sex lasted moments, then minutes, but it was always frantic movements. But now Robb moved with careful, slow strokes; the two of them luxuriated in their closeness, their sweat slick bodies moving in tandem. Robb slid a hand down Arianne’s body, his fingers stroking her hips, his hand slipping under her arse, before lifting her thigh against his hip, hitching it higher so he could thrust deeper into her cunt. Arianne lifted her other leg, wrapped both around his hips, and she couldn’t stop panting, couldn’t keep quiet as she tightened around Robb’s cock, as he slid in and out of her in his slow, measured strokes. He held a hand over her mouth in an attempt to quiet her, but Arianne sucked his fingers into her mouth, licked at them, and it only made his thrusts harder, his hips move faster, snapping into her. Arianne squeezed around him, her nails drawing blood as she scratched at his back, and Robb grunted as he quickened his rhythm. She reached down, grasped his bare ass, pushed her breasts into his chest, lifted her mouth to his, and begged him for a release, urged him with a swipe of her tongue over his lips, into the corners of his mouth, her tongue sliding against his.

Her wolf grabbed a fistful of her sheets and twisted them hard. Any semblance of control he had been holding onto left him, and his hips snapped and bucked against hers. His thrusts were hard and quick and precise and his head fell to her shoulder as he gave in to his body’s cravings, his body driving into hers so viciously that Arianne felt dizzy. She rolled her hips up into his, savoring the delicious feeling of Robb Stark, future Lord of Winterfell, devolving into a mad, hungry beast, a wolf, in her arms. They could dress him up in his woolen doublets; they could teach him how to speak like a good, courteous lord; they could make him fair and balanced, shape his mind to think logically, mold him to behave honorably, but she, only Arianne, had torn through him, ripped him open and pulled out what was really inside: some wild Northern animal that only she could love with her rough, sand-speckled, burning desert heart. As if reading her thoughts, Robb bit down hard on her shoulder, his teeth digging into her warm, olive skin, and she thought she could feel blood. 

Her release fell upon her swiftly, a quick uncoiling in her stomach, a blast of heat across her body, and she felt as if liquid gold pulsed through her, dripping all the way through her. Robb rode out her pleasure, groaning into her pillows. Arianne stroked his back and kissed his neck, urged for him to come, to spend within her, and his body tightened as he filled her with his seed before his body loosened, sagged, and nearly gave out completely.

Arianne lifted her hands to his head. Her fingers sifted through his auburn curls; she scratched his scalp softly. Robb nudged his nose against her neck, then her jaw, then her cheek, like a dog begging to be pet, touched, for attention. She laughed quietly before growing silent and content as he pressed lazy kisses down her throat, across her collarbone, against the curve of a breast. Arianne would never tell him, but she enjoyed this, the way he tasted her, the way he tended to her, the sweet way he pressed his lips to her aching, sweaty skin; she enjoyed it almost as much as the sex. Almost.

Eventually he rolled off of her, but she tucked in under his arm and threw her arm across him, her fingers fitting against his ribs. Robb pressed an exhausted kiss to her forehead before nuzzling her hair. Arianne closed her eyes and breathed him in, breathed in the pine needle smell of him, the strong solid smell of him, the sturdy feel of his chest under her cheek, the heavy beating of his heart. He would leave soon; sneak back into his room so that they wouldn’t be discovered. When they would see each other in the morning, they would exchange a few pleasantries before he went off to practice sword fighting and she went to practice her needlework, both smiling in that secret way of theirs. But for now she curled up against Robb, whose eyes were already drooping, his long lashes kissing the tops of his cheeks, and she smiled against her tired, sated wolf.


End file.
